


Stripes

by 1000excuses



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Caning, M/M, do not try this at home, dragon cane, severe caning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000excuses/pseuds/1000excuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a fill for this prompt on the kink meme: "Enjolras canes Grantaire's thighs then jerks off and comes all over the red marks. maybe as punishment but preferably for consensual sex reasons<br/>bonus if: he makes R beg for every stroke<br/>double bonus if: he verbally humiliates Grantaire for begging<br/>triple bonus if: he makes Grantaire beg to come at the end and then denies him"</p><p>I think I got all of those for you, OP, but Grantaire turned out to be such a mouthy, irreverent sub, and Enjolras the longsuffering sadist is trying to take care of him the best he can. I do hope it's to your liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripes

Enjolras waits until he has Grantaire naked and tied down securely on the bed before he brings out the dragon cane. He swishes it through the air a few times, enjoying the sound the stiff rattan makes and the way it gets Grantaire’s attention immediately. He lifts his head frantically, trying to see over his shoulder with wide eyes. 

Enjolras smiles and swishes the cane a few more times before he steps up the bed and sets the cane down gently so that it rests across Grantaire’s lean, muscular thighs. “Don’t let it roll off,” he warns. “You won’t like what happens if you do.”

Grantaire stills instantly. “That’s a cane,” he says cautiously.

“Well done, yes.” Enjolras leaves the cane and circles around to the side of the bed so that he can squat down and look Grantaire in the eye. “You’re getting caned tonight. It’s going to hurt like fuck all, but it’ll leave lovely purple stripes on your lovely white thighs, and I promise you’ll be very proud of them in the morning.”

“I won’t be able to walk in the morning,” Grantaire mutters.

“Well, I’ll be very proud of them in the morning,” Enjolras admits. “And I’ll make you breakfast in bed: eggs and toast and mushrooms and tomatoes, everything you like.”

Grantaire perks up slightly at the sound of this. “How many strokes?”

“Since it’s a cold caning, and you won’t be getting any warm-up at all, I thought I’d let you choose.” He puts his hand on the small of Grantaire’s back and starts rubbing in slow, gentle circles. “You can have twelve hard ones or six very hard ones.”

Grantaire appears to be giving this a great deal of serious thought. “What about twenty-four not very hard at all ones?”

Enjolras laughs and moves up to rub Grantaire’s shoulders until he relaxes a little into the pillows. “If you don’t want to do this, you can say your safeword now.”

“No-o,” Grantaire says slowly. “I want to see if I can take it.”

“Good boy.” Enjolras smooths a hand over his love’s tousled black curls. “I know you can, and I want to watch you do it. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” He leans down and kisses Grantaire’s cheek. “Now, twelve or six?”

Grantaire whimpers. It takes him a long time to say, “six,” in a very small voice. He’s started to shake a little, and Enjolras spends more time petting him before he stands and retrieves the cane.

“We’ll go at your pace,” he tells Grantaire. “I’m only going to cane you when I’m convinced you really want it. You can take as much time as you need between each strokes to absorb the sensation, but you have to spend that time begging me to give you the next one. You’d better do a very good job, too.”

Grantaire squirms on the bed with a mixture of fear and delight and anticipation. “Please, sir, may I have the first stroke?”

Enjolras tsks. “Really, is that the best you can do? You should be ashamed of yourself. The most verbal sub I’ve ever had to deal with, and you come up with that?” He runs his hand over the curve of Grantaire’s ass, pinching him savagely without warning. 

Grantaire howls, but he’s smirking a little. “I’m ashamed! I’m really, really ashamed! I am so ashamed that I deserved to be tied down and caned without mercy. You’re really very good to put up with me, Enjolras, I mean, sir, and I don’t deserve how—“

“You’re pitiful,” Enjolras interrupts him. “Shut up and brace yourself.” Grantaire makes a show of squinching his eyes shut and wiggling into the bed. Enjolras taps the cane once to mark his target and then he swings, branding a long welt across the crack where Grantaire’s ass meets his thighs.

All the breath seems to leave Grantaire. He hisses through his teeth as the pain realizes, and the sound turns into a long moan. “Jesus Christ, you weren’t kidding.”

Enjolras smacks him lightly with his palm. “Aww, was that too much? Would you like to stop now?”

Grantaire groans.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Enjolras leans down. “I will keep you here all night if I have to, and at the end of it you’re going to be the saddest, sorest little boy. You won’t be able to sit for _weeks_. Now, what are you here for?”

“So you can cane the shit out of me,” Grantaire replies cheerfully. “Please sir, may I have another one, really, really hard? I know you like those best and I want to make you happy.”

“You are ridiculous,” Enjolras scoffs. “Let’s see if we can fix that.” He takes aim and lands the cane brutally right at the top of Grantaire’s thighs, just below the first stripe. “There, still feeling silly?”

Grantaire lets out a broken breath. “Not silly so much any more, no.” He twitches like he would very much like to reach back and rub his throbbing ass, so Enjolras does it for him, squeezing just a little too hard. “Will you give me another stroke, sir? I want to hurt for you, I love to hurt for you. I think about—“

Enjolras cuts him off with a vicious stripe across his thighs that makes Grantaire muffle a yelp in the pillows. The sound goes straight to Enjolras’ cock, and he strokes himself briefly through his jeans. “I imagine you’re thinking now, aren’t you?”

Grantaire nods into the pillow, causing Enjolras to give the cane a warning swish. “I am certainly thinking, yes, sir!” he says quickly. “And I would like another stroke very much, if that’s all right with you.” And he shuts his mouth firmly.

“I think you might be learning.” He lays down the fourth stroke neatly beneath the third, making the beginning of a neat ladder of thick red welts that are quickly bruising. 

Grantaire’s entire body shudders with the impact, and it takes him a long moment to compose himself. Enjolras rubs his back and admires his handiwork. When Grantaire lifts his head, he’s breathing hard and blinking rapidly. Enjolras smiles. “Do you have something to say for yourself?”

“N-no, sir,” he says slowly. “I mean, yes, sir. May I please have another stroke, sir.” And it might be his imagination, but Enjolras swears he sees him flinch.

“I’m not convinced you really want it,” Enjolras muses.

Grantaire says nothing for a little while, but he sounds like he’s breathing very hard. Enjolras shrugs and then he strikes. Grantaire’s entire body convulses. His fists clench and his ass clenches and his toes stretch out for thin air. Enjolras smiles. “Well, did you want it?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire says dreamily, sounding drunk. Enjolras smiles, knowing that his love is drifting toward subspace. “I don’t think you’ve ever hurt me quite this badly, sir, but I love it. There’s one more, isn’t there? And you’ll make it the hardest one. You always do. I’m ready, sir. I mean, I’ll never be really ready, but—“

“Shut up,” Enjolras says affectionately. He takes his time positioning the stroke, because he does mean it to be the hardest one.

Grantaire goes perfectly still. Enjolras whisks the cane once, just close enough that the breeze brushes the welts, and then he does truly crack it down, a branding a thick line across both thighs that splits almost instantly, releasing a thin trickle of blood.

Grantaire twists in his bonds, keening desperately. Enjolras drops the cane, feeling drunk himself. He wants to take himself in hand, wants to come all over those beautiful, throbbing marks, but his sub is crying for him, so he kneels down and cups Grantaire’s check. “Shh, I’m here and it’s done and you did so well, my beautiful, beautiful boy.” He can never bring himself to be effusive unless Grantaire seems to need it.

Grantaire curls into him as much as he can, and Enjolras fumbles to free his wrists and gather him close. Grantaire buries his tear-stained face in Enjolras’ shirt as Enjolras kisses him over and over again and murmurs endearments. 

When Grantaire’s breathing has calmed a little, Enjolras pulls back to look at him. Grantaire manages a shaking smile. “Jesus Christ. Can you hit any harder? Not that I want you to try just now,” he adds hastily. “Fuck.”

“It’s over now,” Enjolras reassures him. “And guess who gets breakfast and a blowjob in bed tomorrow?”

“I don’t want a blowjob tomorrow,” Grantaire grumbles. “I want one right now.”

Enjolras makes a show of frowning. “You just roll back over. I’m not done with your ass.” Grantaire’s eyes widen and he shakes his head a little.

Enjolras rolls his eyes and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He’d dressed to the nines for this scene, and he leaves his suspenders on and tries to slither out of the shirt. It doesn’t quite work but Grantaire doesn’t laugh. Giving up, Enjolras shrugs them off too before he starts working on his pants. It has never taken him this long to strip in his life, he thinks, but it seems that Grantaire has forgotten to be impatient. 

“Roll over,” Enjolras growls, finally, _finally_ naked and able to grasp his straining cock. “Be my good boy, my filthy, dirty boy.”

Grantaire’s eyes can’t get any wider, but he obediently turns over on his stomach. The block of stripes on his perfect thighs is swollen and bruising fast, anything but neat now. It would make Enjolras wince in sympathy if he weren’t so proud of his handiwork. Right now all he can think about is how badly he wants to come all over those welts. It takes him no time at all as he breathes steadily and strokes himself with the same methodical intensity that he just applied to the caning. He feels it rising in the pit of his stomach, a clenching wave too long held back, and he lets out a long groan as sticky white ribbons of spunk spill across Grantaire’s thighs and ass.

When he comes back to himself, he finds Grantaire watching him. “That stung like fuck. Now is it—“ 

“No,” Enjolras says firmly. “Now it’s time for you to have a bath and me to wash you very carefully and put you to bed.”

Grantaire blinks mournfully at him and whimpers a little. Enjolras shakes his head. “Are you a good boy or a bad boy?”

“I’m good boy,” Grantaire sighs, trying to slide off the bed. His legs are none too steady, though, and Enjolras catches him and pulls him up gently.

“Come on, my good boy,” Enjolras says, kissing his hair again. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’m going to hate you in the morning,” Grantaire mutters, limping with him through the open bathroom door.

“No, you’re going to come down my throat in the morning,” Enjolras corrects him. “And then you’re going to have toast and a back rub, because you are my good boy.” And Grantaire seems to have no problem with that at all.


End file.
